Near Harwich
KENT alone:
With the wind’s first breath he fled. He’s sick.
Why have I thus all so unbrotherly
Borne arms against thee? Lying in thy tent
In their honeymoon this spotted pair
Aim against thy life, Edward. God rain vengeance
On my cursed head.
As running water cannot flow uphill
So wrong shall die and justice conquer still.
CAPTURE OF KING EDWARD IN THE GRANARY OF NEATH ABBEY (19 OCTOBER 1324)
Neath Abbey
Edward, Spencer, Lord Abbot
ABBOT:
Have you no doubt, my lord; have you no fear.
Forget that I was once abused by you
In times which have much altered. In these
Tempests you and we are merely pilgrims
To Our Lady of the Shipwrecks.
EDWARD:
Father, pierced by the sight of my flesh
All hearts must miss a beat, times have so changed.
ABBOT:
As you would hide from evil eyes
Here in this granary take this pillow.
EDWARD:
No pillow, Abbot. Let the soldier
Have his hammock.
Enter Baldock.
EDWARD:
Who comes?
BALDOCK:
King Edward’s Baldock.
EDWARD:
And our only friend. ’Tis comfort to the hunted
When a brother seeks him in his lair.
Drink our water with us, eat our
Salt and bread.
BALDOCK:
Twice the moon has changed since I saw you
In the camp at Harwich.
SPENCER:
How stands it in London?
BALDOCK:
In London all is upside down, it seems.
EDWARD:
Come Spencer! Baldock come, sit by me
Make trial now of that philosophy
That in our famous nurseries of arts
Thou suckedst from Plato and from Aristotle.
Ah, Spencer
Since words are crude, dividing heart from heart
And understanding is not given us
In such deafness only bodies’ touch is left
Between men. And this indeed’s
But little, and all is vain.
Enter a monk.
MONK:
Father, a second ship is sailing into harbour.
ABBOT:
Since when?
MONK:
These few minutes.
EDWARD:
What does he say?
ABBOT:
Nothing, Sire.
To Spencer:
Did any see you come here?
SPENCER:
No one.
ABBOT:
Do you expect someone?
SPENCER:
No. No one.
MONK:
The ship puts to.
BALDOCK:
Tell me, King Edward, why, when you
Had Roger Mortimer in your grasp, did you
Spare him on the day of Killingworth?
Edward is silent.
BALDOCK:
Today you’d have a wind for Ireland.
Were you in Ireland you’d be saved.
SPENCER:
It left us in the lurch and all but sank us.
EDWARD:
Mortimer! Who talks of Mortimer?
A bloody man. Lord Abbot, on thy lap
Lay I this head, laden with care and violence.
O might I never ope these eyes again!
BALDOCK:
What is that noise?
SPENCER:
‘Tis nothing. ’Tis a gust of snow.
BALDOCK:
I thought it was a cock-crow.
The noise deceived.
SPENCER:
Look up, my lord. Baldock, this drowsiness
Betides no good. We are betrayed already.
Enter Rice ap Howell and troops.
SOLDIER:
I’ll wager Wales, these be the men.
BALDOCK to himself:
See him sitting there, hoping, unseen
As though flies covered him, to escape
From murdering hands.
RICE AP HOWELL:
In England’s name which among you is the king?
SPENCER:
There is no king here.
BALDOCK goes up to King Edward:
Take this napkin, I pray you, good my lord.
You have sweat upon your brow.
RICE AP HOWELL:
Take him. This is he.
Edward as he goes between armed men, stares at Baldock.
BALDOCK weeps:
My mother in Ireland would eat some bread.
Sire, pardon me.
KING EDWARD, A PRISONER IN SHREWSBURY CASTLE, REFUSES TO RENOUNCE THE CROWN.
Shrewsbury
The Lord Abbot, now Archbishop of Winchester, Rice ap Howell.
ABBOT:
When he succeeded to his father Edward
He sported happy hours with a man
Named Gaveston
Who christened me with channel water
In a dark alley by Westminster Abbey.
Then through an error he embroiled himself
In a desperate oath and turned a tiger.
Some time after, the Queen, she who clung
To him so long, left him, with many others.
After many years it fell to me to see him
When he was a shipwreck, spattered
With much blood and vices, under my protection
At Neath Abbey.
Today am I Archbishop of Winchester
Successor to a man whose head he
Struck off, and I am charged
To ask him for his crown.
RICE AP HOWELL:
Now he is in chains he refuses
Food and drink. Go carefully, touch
Not his head but touch his heart.
ABBOT:
When you hear these words upon my lips:
‘Allow me to begin with the set form’
Then draw nearer with some others
Witnesses that Edward the Second abdicated.
Unnoticed then and painlessly will I
This concession, like a bad tooth
Draw from him.
Enter Edward.
RICE AP HOWELL:
He still speaks. Hear him and say naught.
Better speak than think. See, he warms himself
With his words. Remember he is cold.
Will you not eat, my lord? Why do you refuse
To eat?
Edward is silent.
Exit Rice ap Howell.
EDWARD:
The forest deer, being struck
Runs to an herb that closeth up the wounds;
But when the tiger’s flesh is gored, he rends
And tears it with his wrathful paw.
Often I think that all is ever change.
But when I call to mind I am a king
Methinks I should revenge me of the wrongs
That Mortimer and Anne have done to me.
And yet we kings when regiment is gone
Are perfect shadows in a sunshine day.
Truly I think most things are vain.
The nobles rule, I bear the name of king
And my unconstant queen
Once hateful to me for her bitch-like clinging
(And so debased that her love’s not
Part of her like her own hair but a mere
Thing, changing with every change)
Now spots my nuptial bed
While sorrow at my elbow still attends
And grief still clasps me to his breast and I
Must bleed my heart out at this strange exchange.
ABBOT:
God paints with grief and pallor those he loves.
Would it please your majesty to ease
Your bosom in my ear?
EDWARD:
The starving fishermen of Yarmouth
I pressed for rent.
ABBOT:
What else weighs on thy heart?
EDWARD:
I kept my wife Anne in the city in fifteen.
In the August heat. A whim.
ABBOT:
What else weighs on thy heart?
EDWARD:
I spared Roger Mortimer for malicious pleasure.
ABBOT:
What else weighs upon thy heart?
EDWARD:
I whipped my dog Truly till he bled. Vanity.
ABBOT:
And what else weighs upon thy heart?
EDWARD:
Nothing.
ABBOT:
No bloodshed, no offences against nature?
EDWARD:
Nothing.
O wild despair of man’s estate!
Say, father, must I now resign my crown
To make usurping Mortimer a king?
ABBOT:
Your grace mistakes, with all respect we crave
The crown for the child Edward’s right.
EDWARD:
No it is for Mortimer, not Edward’s head.
For he’s a lamb encompassed by two wolves
That in a moment will rip out his throat.
ABBOT:
That child in London is in God’s hands.
And many say your abdication
Were good both for your son and you.
EDWARD:
Why do they tell lies to one who
Scarce can ope his lids for weariness?
Say’t, fear not my weariness: You do it
So that England’s vine may perish
And Edward’s name ne’er come within the Chronicles.
ABBOT:
My Lord, these last times must have been
Most cruel to make you hold such stark belief
In human wickedness. My son, since thou
Hast opened up thy heart to me, lay
Thy head once more upon my lap and hear me.
EDWARD takes off his crown, then:
Let me but wear it for today! Thou shouldst
Stay by me till evening and I
Will fast and cry: Continue ever, sun!
Let not the dark moon possess this clime!
Stand still you watches of the element
You moon and seasons, rest you at a stay
That Edward may be still fair England’s king.
But day’s bright beam doth quickly pass away.
He puts on his crown again.
Inhuman creatures nursed with tiger’s milk
Lusting for your sovereign’s overthrow.
See, you monsters, from Westminster Abbey, see!
I cannot take it off, my hair goes with it
It is quite grown with it. Oh it
Has at all times been an easy burden to me
No heavier than the maple’s crown of twigs
So light and pleasing at all times to wear
And for all time now a little blood
A scrap of skin, black blood will stick to it
From Edward the Powerless, the Poor, the tiger’s prey.
ABBOT:
Be patient. This is but the green discharge
Of a chastised body, a fantasy, a whistling wind
On a rainy night. Strip the linen from your breast.
I lay my hand straightway upon your heart
That it may lighter beat, for it is real.
EDWARD:
Were it reality and reality all this
The earth would open up and swallow us
Yet since it does not open and thus
‘Tis as a dream, fantasy, and has naught to do
With the world’s common reality nor with an
Ordinary day, I lay down this crown —
ABBOT:
Aye! Take it off! It is not thy flesh!
EDWARD:
Sure this is not real and I
Must wake in Westminster
After thirteen happily concluded years of war —
In London.
I, in the recorded births at Caernarvon
Edward, King of England, Edward Longshanks’ son
Thus in the church register.
ABBOT:
You are in a sweat? You must eat!
I’ll take it from your sight. Make haste!
EDWARD:
So quick? Here take it, seize it. But
If it please you with a cloth, ’tis wet.
Quick quick! ’Tis almost evening! Go! Tell them
At Shrewsbury Edward had no wish
To eat the icy wind with wolves
And gave it for a roof against the winter
That stands before the door.
ABBOT:
Permit me then
To begin with the set form: I, Thomas
Archbishop of Winchester, ask you
Edward of England, Second of that name
Son to Edward Longshanks: ‘Art thou willing
To resign the crown and to renounce
Therewith all rights and claims.’
Rice ap Howell and his men have entered.
EDWARD:
No no no, you liars! Slaves! Measure you
The ocean with your little cups? Have I
Been tricked then? Have I babbled?
Have you come this time without a storm, man?
Have you another habit on, Lord Abbot?
Once before already, Winchester, I had
Your face struck off. Faces like yours
Do multiply ever in a most harmful way.
In such a case one named Mortimer
Was wont to say: like flies! Or did you
When I washed you in the gutter, lose
Your face there so I saw it not
When I laid my head upon your lap?
Aye, Lord Abbot, the things of this world are
Not constant.
ABBOT:
Make no mistake. Even if your hand’s too good
To touch my face, be sure of this:
My face is real.
EDWARD:
Go quick! ’Tis evening. Tell the Peers: Edward
Dies soon. Less haste were courtesy.
Say too: he gave you leave not to
Mourn him greatly when you toll the knell
For him, but prayed you to go down
Upon your knees and say: Now
Is he the easier. Say: He bade us not to
Credit when, distractedly, he spoke
What seemed renunciation of the crown.
Thrice said he: No.
ABBOT:
My lord as you have said so be it done.
For Mother England. Two days
In London one was sought who
Was not your enemy and none was found
But me. And so we take our leave.
Exeunt Abbot and the others save Rice ap Howell.
EDWARD:
And now Rice ap Howell, give me to eat.
For Edward eats now.
He sits and eats.
Since I did not resign I know the next
News that they bring will be my death.
Enter Berkeley with a letter.
RICE AP HOWELL:
What bring you, Berkeley?
EDWARD:
What we know.
Pardon us, Berkeley, that we are at meat.
Come Berkeley
Tell thy message to my naked breast.
BERKELEY:
Think you, my lord, Berkeley
Would stain his hands?
RICE AP HOWELL:
An order from Westminster commands
That I resign my charge.
EDWARD:
And who must keep me now? You, Berkeley?
BERKELEY:
S
o ’tis decreed.
EDWARD takes the letter:
By Mortimer whose name is written here.
He tears the letter.
So may his limbs be torn as is this paper.
BERKELEY:
Your grace must straight to horse for Berkeley.
EDWARD:
Whither you will; all places are alike
And every earth is fit for burial.
BERKELEY:
And thinks your grace that Berkeley will be cruel?
EDWARD:
I know not.
IN THE YEARS 1324-6 THE PRISONER EDWARD PASSES FROM HAND TO HAND.
Shrewsbury
RICE AP HOWELL alone:
His state moved me to pity. That is
The ground why Berkeley had
To take him hence.
Enter Kent.
KENT:
In London it is said the king’s resigned.
RICE AP HOWELL:
Lies.
KENT:
Mortimer says so.
RICE AP HOWELL:
He lies. In my hearing thrice the king
Said no.
KENT:
Where is my brother?
RICE AP HOWELL:
These thirteen days Berkeley sent for him
To come.
KENT:
London believes he is with you.
RICE AP HOWELL:
Berkeley had an order signed by Mortimer.
KENT:
‘Tis strange that no one’s seen the king
Face to face and strange that no one’s
Heard him and strange that now he speaks
In Mortimer’s mouth.
RICE AP HOWELL:
‘Tis strange indeed.
KENT:
Therefore to Berkeley swiftly will I hie
To learn from Edward’s mouth what’s truth, what lie.
THE QUEEN LAUGHS AT THE WORLD’S EMPTINESS.
Westminster
The Queen, Mortimer, the two brothers Gurney.
MORTIMER:
Did Berkeley give him to you willingly?
ELDER GURNEY:
No.
ANNE aside:
Here among the tapestries of Westminster it reeks
Of strangled chickens. You walked easier
In Scottish air.
MORTIMER talking with the Gurneys:
Look you, this Berkeley was a man
With milk in his bones, who wept too easy.
If he saw someone draw another’s tooth
He’d faint on you. The earth lie easy on him.
You are not other such?
ELDER GURNEY:
Oh no, my lord, we are not of that sort.
ANNE:
Business! Business! The smell of too much
History between the walls of
Westminster. Will your hands not
Peel in London’s lye? Your
Hands are scribbler’s hands.
MORTIMER:
Where is your prisoner?
YOUNGER GURNEY:
North east south west from Berkeley, my lord.
MORTIMER:
See there are men whom cold air
Cannot harm. Know you aught